


One (Project Vesna)

by howler32557038



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Father's Day, Kid Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Post Mpreg, Project Vesna, Steve just wants someone to be impressed with his lumberjack skills, and merry christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7252447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howler32557038/pseuds/howler32557038
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PLEASE NOTE: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF PROJECT VESNA.</p><p>Steve found the perfect Christmas tree and dragged it all the way home. Home isn't the temporary safe-house, where he and Bucky are staying. Home is what's inside - the love, the messes, and the chaos.</p><p>(Written for Father's Day, 2016.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One (Project Vesna)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drawgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drawgirl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Project Vesna](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438207) by [howler32557038](https://archiveofourown.org/users/howler32557038/pseuds/howler32557038). 



> PLEASE NOTE: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF PROJECT VESNA.  
> PLEASE NOTE: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF PROJECT VESNA.  
> PLEASE NOTE: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF PROJECT VESNA.  
> PLEASE NOTE: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF PROJECT VESNA.  
> PLEASE NOTE: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF PROJECT VESNA.
> 
> That should get the point across. Alright, if you STILL read this, don't come whining to me about how there were spoilers. I didn't spoil the MAJOR twist, but there's still a lot of spoilage. I leave it up to your own self-control. Also, if you decide to read this, please don't share spoilers until the rest of Project Vesna is released.

Steve never did much yard work as a kid. He sure as hell never felled a tree. He never actually _had_ a yard, growing up. But he can remember wanting one.

It’s been more than a year since he and Bucky busted out of Hydra’s labs in Montreal, and he’s finally feeling _connected_ to his childhood memories again. They filtered back in slowly at first and he was always surprised when something from Brooklyn or something about his mom would pop into his head - most of the time, he didn’t even know the memory had been missing. But he was always happy to have it. He tells Bucky every time it happens. He writes it down. He sketches it - quick and messy and never touching an eraser, desperate to capture the shape of it. The process is becoming less frantic, though. Now, he can be with his memories, enjoy them.

Today, he’s thinking back on his childhood longing for a home in the country, smiling, because their little house off the grid by the Chittenden Reservoir was the stuff of young Steve’s dreams. When it came to safe-houses, Natasha sure knew how to pick ‘em.  A million things to sketch. No cars, no angry cabbies, no roaring trains. A new set of birds for each stage of the day, crickets in the evening, locusts in summer. A garden in the back, in a nice patch that always gets the sun. Gorgeous snowfalls that don’t get dirty and blackened by commuters. Everything’s like a painting. The house is supposed to only be temporary, but part of him wishes he could stay forever. And Abe and Elizabeth seem to love it, too.

 _Hell, they’re probably wishing they lived in the city,_ he thinks with a private little chuckle.

He’s about a quarter-mile away from his house, loving the feel of the freezing wind whipping off the lake. His face is warm and his hands are downright hot, and he’d shucked his coat a while ago. He’s also extraordinarily pleased with himself. This tree is - without a doubt - perfect. The clearance on their living room ceiling is a little low, but he’s confident that he eyeballed the height expertly. Granted, it’s a little fat, but he’ll find a way to squeeze it through the front door somehow. And Bucky will inevitably bitch about the needles getting everywhere, but Steve will sweep them up. Like hell they’re not going to have a Christmas tree.

He stows the little hatchet on his belt and hefts the tree under one arm - _that’s going to get itchy before I get it home -_ and sets off toward the cabin, barely restraining himself from running because he’s so excited to set it up. They haven’t got any ornaments, but they can make paper-chains or something. Strings of popcorn, maybe. No, that’d be a mess. And he can’t imagine _his_ family making popcorn and not devouring it.

He’s about halfway back when the wind dies and the air goes still and quiet. The sky is a brilliant, pale grey in the west and soft lavender in the east, and the woods are silent. Last time the sky looked like this - _just_ like this - he was standing on the porch of Clint and Laura’s old house, waiting on Beth. And waiting on Abe, too, although he hadn’t known it yet. Hard to believe that, in two days, a year will have passed. Time has flown by so quickly, with what seems like barely any sleep.

When Steve gets his ( _let’s be honest, perfect_ ) Christmas tree inside, he’s sort of expecting to be the center of attention for a minute, which admittedly has him a little excited. Damn it, he’s going to _earn_ his first World’s Best Dad mug, and even if Beth and Abe aren’t old enough to say, “Wow, Daddy, thanks for making Christmas perfect, you’re our hero,” he’s at least hoping for some happy babbles and clumsy hand-clapping because he’s dragging a tree into the living room. Even if they don’t know what Christmas is yet, that’s pretty neat on its own.

He gets to the living room foyer and has just enough time to say, “Hey, everybody--” before the screaming starts. In the usual order. Abe, Beth, Bucky. Well, Bucky isn’t exactly screaming. His voice is more of a low, crackling, exhausted hiss of, “Elizabeth, for God’s sake.”

Steve leans the Christmas tree up just outside the entryway where they won’t see it, in case there’s any chance of salvaging his moment once he figures out why everyone’s crying.

“This sounds exciting,” Steve smiles, stepping inside. Bucky had been sitting on the living room floor with the kids, enjoying the fireplace and unpacking a big plastic tote that Steve’s never seen before. Beth looks more angry than hurt, clutching the box’s lid in one hand, and Abe’s flat on his little back, red in the face, looking positively wounded. The plot thickens.

Bucky scoops up Abe’s limp body with an exasperated sigh and swats his hands away from his face, trying to get a look at the damage. There’s no visible mark, though, so Bucky doesn’t panic and just bounces him sympathetically. “Aw, sugar, did you get clocked?” he croons, then turns to Steve with mirthless smile. “We found some old Christmas decorations in the basement. Last owner must have left ‘em. Beth smacked him in the head with the lid.”

“On purpose or by accident?”

“She’s eleven months old, Steve, everything she does is a damn accident.”

Abe’s still wailing, but he’s well taken care of. Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s little show of crocodile tears has turned serious as she realizes that she hurt her brother and got herself abandoned on the floor. Steve doesn’t bother to pick her up - just sits down cross-legged a few feet in front of her.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he grins, hoping she’ll just forget to be sad, and claps his outstretched hands. “Come over here. Tell Dad about it.”

She reaches out and wraps both her hands around one of his. She doesn’t _quite_ stop crying, but she does distract herself with the arduous task of getting her legs underneath her. As soon as she’s got her balance, Steve starts to pull his hand away until all she’s got a hold of is the tip of his finger, and it’s more for security than aid. She’s no professional walker just yet, and maybe she wobbles a little, trying to figure out which way to lean as she steps, and when she stumbles toward him, she always puts one foot forward and brings the other to it, then repeats. But by golly, she makes it, even if Steve has to catch her in the end.

“Abe’s okay, baby girl. You didn’t hurt him,” Steve promises, patting her back as she lays herself over his legs. “I know, I know,” he soothes when she whines a little more. “You didn’t mean it.”

“We found lights,” Bucky informs him, casually shouting over Abe.

“I found something even better,” Steve says cryptically. Bucky doesn’t seem nearly as interested as Steve had hoped he’d be.

“You know, they’re probably just losing their mind because they’re hungry,” he sighs. “I was waiting on you - didn’t know what you wanted to make for dinner. Got distracted when I ran down there to check that pilot light -”

“Do you not want to know what I found?” Steve asks, hoping that didn’t sound too desperate.

“Well, there’s a spruce needle in my foot, so I’d say you found a tree, Steve,” he deadpans, then inclines his head toward the foyer. “This giant tree right here’s also a major clue.”

“Aw,” Steve groans. “You ruined the surprise, Bucky. I had this whole big entrance thing planned.”

“Surprise? It’s almost Christmas, and I’m supposed to be surprised you dragged in a tree.”

“Well, you didn’t _know_ I was going to do it _today._ ”

“You asked me where the hatchet was, measured the living room ceiling, and walked out the door whistling Christmas songs, buddy.”

Beth rolls over to sprawl across Steve’s lap, eyes now dry, and stares up at him sleepily, not expressing much. “Beth’s surprised.”

“I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you can ever impress her.”

Steve looks guilty before he even opens his mouth, but he opens it anyway. “Well, Abe’s surprised.”

“Abe got smacked, Steve,” Bucky huffs, offended on his son’s behalf. “Dinner. Then we can decorate your tree.”

“Well, last night we had hamburgers,” Steve says slowly, looking down into Beth’s bright baby-blues like he’s asking for her input, when he knows very well that whatever solid food they make she’ll end up playing in more than she eats. “And we live a _really_ long way from the store, huh? So I guess, tonight…” He waits for Beth to answer, and sure enough, they’ve had this conversation enough in the past that she makes a two syllable attempt at a word starting with _m._ Steve tosses his head back and laughs. “Yeah, that’s right. Meatloaf.”

Bucky snorts, partially with amusement for Beth’s try at the word, and with just a little evident disgust. Steve knows he doesn’t mind meatloaf, but the grease is hell to get off the kids’ clothes. He takes a winding path toward the kitchen with Abraham, making a bit of a show of avoiding all the spruce needles Steve has yet to clean up, as a passive-aggressive reminder that it needs to be done promptly.

Steve brushes his fingers through Beth’s hair and wipes away the last tear-drops from her cheeks with his thumb. “And after we eat, we’re going to put up our Christmas tree, baby girl,” he explains. “You’re going to love it. We’ll get it all lit up, and then we can all curl up on the couch and watch the snow come down. And I...will sweep the entryway,” he adds, more as a reminder to himself. “And maybe, before Christmas, Santa will show up with a couple of presents for you and Abe,” he smiles. “But don’t expect anything cool for your birthday this year, because you’re still too young to know when me and Papa combine holidays to save money,” he adds innocently, lifting her up into his arms and getting up fast, so that she grins and babbles happily. “Yeah, you don’t care,” he chuckles.

Beth stares at him and he stares back, but fortunately she doesn’t call him out on being a cheapskate - not this year, anyway. Next year, he might not get away with it. Beth turns her attention to the window, mouth agape as fat snowflakes start to stick against the cold pane. Steve watches with her for a little while, and then glances over to the couch - remembers the ache in his knees from kneeling on the floor, waiting for her to be born, remembers sitting by the little fireplace in Clint’s old living room, watching Bucky sleep. He’s looking down at a different couch now, and Beth has certainly changed since then. But the sky outside is like a time machine. Just the same. Steve is reminded just how quickly a year can pass, how much can happen in so little time.

“I love you, Elizabeth.”

“Oh, wow,” Elizabeth says to the snow, studying it with wide, understanding eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “Wow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for inspiring this, drawgirl. You're one helluva a muse, but an even better friend.


End file.
